Win Tickets Wednesday

There must be something about Wednesdays. This morning I woke to the radio station that was giving away tickets to John Hiatt. Barely awake and not able to read the numbers on the phone I called when I heard the cue and holy crap, I won two third row tickets to the upcoming show. Not only that but I also get passes to go back stage and enjoy a barbeque. How cool is that?

It goes without saying that I’ll be buying the megabucks ticket tonight after work.

Good fortune I say to you, thanks. You're always welcome here.

Saturday Blast From The Past

Deciding that the moment had arrived, she looked him deep in the eyes as she slowly leaned across the table, an action that would have been quite seductive had she not dropped her left tit in the gravy boat.

Sugary Goodness

I’m sure you’ve all noticed my side bar links. In fact I’m sure you’ve all clicked on them. As you continued to click you noticed that I like to read blogs. You may have noticed one blog in particular, Home Fires, and I’m sure you all marked it on your favorites as I have. That’s Lois Lane. Hers is one of the first blogs in blogland that I discovered and began following on a regular basis. Funny chick that Lois.

I’m sure you’re by now wondering just why the hell I’m bringing this up. Well a while back she had a haiku contest. I’m no poet. Not even a little bit. But haiku, although considered poetry, has a syllabic formula. (did I just say syllabic formula?) If it has a formula then that means it can be engineered. Hey wait, I’m sort of an engineer. So when Lois announced that she was going to have a Haiku Hellaballu I was right there with my calculator and micrometers.

But what to say? I had to think of something to write about and I wanted to suck up to the judge so I looked around her blog for inspiration. Then I saw this picture: How much more inspiration does a person need? None I say. So utilizing most of the fingers on both hands I set about to crafting a haiku.

With arms folded she
looks at the world defiant,
dares us not to laugh.

At that point there was nothing to do but wait. The readers cast their ballots and for some odd reason they chose mine. I won. I won about poetry, albeit engineered poetry, but still poetry according to the rule book. Holy crap I said.

So then Lois had to figure out just what to send me for a prize. She did a lot of thinking and she read over all my comments and posts for some idea what to send. She’s a careful reader too. I know this because when I got home from work last night I had a package waiting for me. There was no return address on it so I had no idea who it was from or what might be inside. I opened the box all anxious and on top was a letter but I was in too much of a hurry to read it, I wanted to know what I got. When I moved the paper this is what I saw:

I screamed. I knew immediately who sent it to me. Lois did her homework folks and sent to me the perfect prize. I haven’t seen a box of this in almost forty years. How cool is that?

Thank you Lois Lane! Good luck at clown school!

Welcome To Boston, Have A Mint

Monday I took a trip to Boston to watch the Red Sox pound the Nationals. As you may remember from a previous post, I won two tickets. I gave the second ticket to a buddy of mine, Ken, the guy who took me to Mount Washington. We took the bus down. It’s way cheaper than driving and it has the added benefit of me not having to drive.

We arrived in South Station and then headed down to the T. Boston was packed. People everywhere. Since it was Monday night and around the end of the work day, I got to witness the daily commute. It’s amazing how many people can read a book while standing up on a subway. I felt just like a city dweller as I navigated the underground trains, right up until I got on the train going in the wrong direction.

We arrived finally at the Kenmore Square stop and headed up to street level. For some reason that I couldn’t understand, there were people giving away mints. One block away there were people giving away gum. Were they trying to tell me something? Did they know I was coming? Do other cities do this? What ever the reason, I found it to be a nice gesture. A lot of people threw their wrappers on the ground and I’m sorry but that’s just wrong. Don’t litter.

Originally we thought that we’d get there and then go have a quick bite and a beer before the game. It didn’t dawn on me that everyone else going to the same game would have the same idea. We ended up at the Cask And Flagon where the din was like nothing I’d heard outside of a stadium. We quickly realized that we’d be lucky to just get a beer, food was out of the question. We drank a quick beer and then headed towards the park where we ate a five dollar hot dog from a cart.

The weather was perfect. The tickets were way up in the cheap seats about three or four rows down from the very top. The place was packed and it just felt like everyone was happy. That’s the only way I can explain it. I brought a small pair of cheap ass binoculars so I could look around at stuff. The breeze felt wonderful. The beer was stupidly expensive and tasted like it came from the keg of the gods.

And now the Game Highlights:

My seat just happened to be right next to a total hottie.

I saw someone I know sitting five seats away.

After several attempts by the center field crowd to get the wave started it eventually took off and went four complete revolutions around the park. I got goose bumps.

We saw ourselves on the big giant score board. Okay, Ken saw us and told me.

We saw Fred Lynn on the big giant score board then I picked him out with my binoculars.

We were on TV during the Dunkin Dugout thing.

We had to leave just a bit early because we had to catch the last bus out of town that night. It was the bottom of the eighth and Boston was ahead and also at bat. It was looking pretty good. The gate was right below where we were sitting and spilled out onto Lansdowne street and when we came out and were walking down the street we heard the crowd up above start to cheer and I looked up and saw a baseball come over the stands and land about twenty yards ahead of me and bounce into this small parking lot. How cool is that? There were a half dozen people ahead of me and they took off after it. Turns out it was Manny’s.

And there you have it. We made our way back to the T then to South Station where we caught the very last bus out of town. I had a great time. Boston is nice. There’s a big sign when you enter Maine, it says, ‘Maine; The Way Life Should Be.’ I think Boston should put up a sign. ‘Boston; Minty Fresh.’

Saturday Blast From The Past

November 2004


So I taught myself drums in high school then went on to drop out of music school. I'm now teaching myself guitar so it’s hard telling where that will lead but it takes the edge off of the day to day.

So I was sitting and thinking about it and I was letting my mind wander. Imagine being all hooked up with a chick musician. I mean dreaming is free right? So why not make it Sheryl Crow? Cue the wiggly dream screen starting now...

So it like’s Sunday morning and I’m all hooked up with Sheryl Crow and it’s Sunday, did I mention that, and we wake up and she’s all like, “oh Mark, you are so the man.”

And I’m all like, “oh no babe, it’s all us, it’s so totally us.” I look at her in that way that she likes and then slide off the bed in an oh so seductive manor and go brush my teeth. She’s now primed for the big one. It’s best we let that one simmer for a bit.

“Hungry?” I ask all innocent like.

“Mmm, yeah now that you bring it up.”

“How about some eggs, maybe some cheese in there somewhere,” I suggest, “of course you know there’s toast I mean, that goes without saying.”

“And raspbeery jam?” she asks all cute like,

“Yes,” I answer with the fake eye roll, “with rasp-beery-jam my little muffy wuffy”. Oh we’re just so cute.

And what’s more, I pull off the breakfast, right down to the raspbeery and she’s diggin’ it. And we eat, yes we eat of the Sunday breakfast. And there’s coffee.

“Shall we take our coffee in the studio my love?” I ask in my most James Bond suaveness.

“But of course,” she says with her most sexy Miss MoneyPenny.

She goes for the Tele, stops, looks at me all coquettish like and then grabs the Strat. The vixen. She knows what the Strat does to me.

I reach over, switch on bass player in a box, take a drink of my coffee and look at her with the one eye brow raised. Hmm, I think, what’s it going to be baby. I know, how about a little ‘There goes the Neighborhood’ two three four, huh.

Oh yeah, we’re going for it. The jam is on. You sing baby, you sing it to Mark. And she does oh yes she does, and I’m laying the two and four like you wouldn’t believe and she’s all singin’ and lookin’ so hot and she know’s I’m gonna … skreetch. Uhh yeah. Keep it at a simmer Mark I tell myself. All in good time I tell her with my eyes.

So we run through her fun stuff just to get warmed up then we warm up the coffee. By then we usually run through some of the new stuff she’s got percolating. That’s the fun part, the part of her that only I get to see, the part where she’s just working shit out and trying to figure out what goes where. “It’s okay babe,” I say as I lean back and sip off my cup. “It’s all good”. Cause after all, it’s Sunday morning, I have coffee, and it’s Sheryl fucking Crow.

I can lay down the two and four for hours, it’s my job after all. I try to do it as much as possible. I try not to do much else. I leave that stuff up to the guitars and the singers and keyboards and shit like that. That’s what Sheryl likes, she likes that I just drive the truck. Sometimes she calls me that, Truck. “Drive it, Truck” she’ll say. But that’s more for Sunday evening.

While she’s working she’s looking over at me from time to time to see if she’s getting me all hot and man I’m sitting there looking all cucumber like. I’m just hanging babe, laying the two and four for you, you know. Little does she know I’m going to earn the nomenclature of Truck later tonight, oh yes tonight. But that’s later.

Then she gets to the part where she’s worked through the newer stuff and now it’s time to experiment. She’ll be all like “hey babe, how about you just lay down some funk for me. And make it juicy.” I lean back, take one last sip off the bean, and launch into the raunchy sleazy funk. As I adjust to the funk train that I’ve decided to hop onto she take’s a few last sips from her coffee while she lets the groove wash through her. Then I see the grind start. It starts low in the hips and then she gets moving enough to put the bean cup down. Then she finds some riff and starts scratching it out.

Once she gets that motor running there’s no telling where it will take her. I love being the driver, the Truck. She says she can’t help herself, that when she hears my groove she’s overcome and it takes her, takes her to a new place. I know she’s just stroking my ego but I say hell girl, stroke away.

And ride the groove train we do. We follow it through the twists and turns it presents, always open to any new place it may lead. We look each other deep in the eye, down to the part that knows that baby, we are both just riders on this rollercoaster of groove.

These are the sections that I miss the most. These were the moments that we were riding on the groove train together, just going where ever it decided to take us on any given Sunday morning. A slave to the groove…slave to the groove. But alas, it all had to end as so many things end.

One day, a Tuesday I think, she came to me all distraught. “Oh babe, I’m so sorry but I think I’ve found someone else.”

As you can imagine I was quite floored. What about our groove train baby? But it wasn’t to be. Our groove train was pulling into the station of alldonesville.

So long Sheryl. Don’t be too sad, it was all good. It’s all good baby. But please, stop that beeping. The beeping, stop the beeping babe, just don’t beep. Wait, what’s that noise? What’s that beeping? Is it time for the alarm already?

My Latest Offering

As I stated in an earlier post, I had a story accepted. The magazine is called Chick Flicks Magazine. But don't let the name fool you, there are some guys there too. So my story is now live in issue eight and as promised there's a link on my side bar. The name of the story is Begging For Liberation

It's a completely fictional story about an almost engineer who tries skydiving while denying he is having a midlife crisis. Oh wait, that's not my story, that's my blog. Guess you'll just have to read it.

The Law Of Threes

The experts were right. Those things do come in threes. (If you’re wondering what the hell I’m talking about then see my last post.)

So I did stop at the store last night to buy a MegaBucks ticket. Okay, I got more than one.

So last night before I went to bed I checked the winning numbers.

As I said, the experts were right.

The suspense is killing you isn’t it?

As per the Law Of Threes I had three numbers match correctly. It takes six numbers to win the jackpot. Too bad it wasn’t the law of the sixes or the law of the two times threes.

Three correct numbers wins one whole dollar.

The Law Of Threes; as real and unbending as the Monkey’s Paw.

This Day Has My Name All Over It

Tonight after work I’ll be sure to stop at the store and buy a MegaBucks ticket. It is my day after all so I’d be a fool not to.

I went home for lunch today and waiting for me in a FedEx envelope were two tickets to this Monday’s Redsox game at Fenway. “Holy crap!” I said.

I came back to work after lunch feeling quite fine. I checked my email and there waiting for me was my first print acceptance. “Holy crap!” I said.

I submitted my sky diving adventure and they took it for the July issue. They’ll even have pictures. How cool is that? The paper is called No Umbrella. It’s the Maine Outdoors paper. They’re even going to send me a copy.

The experts claim these things come in threes. I’d like number three to be tonight’s MegaBucks drawing please.

Butter Knife

He sits in a plastic chair in front of an old fan that clangs on every seventeenth revolution. He knows it's seventeen because he counted. He sits next to a small table on which sits a bowl of cold water. In the water is a butter knife. In his hand is another one. He holds the flat of the knife first against one cheek then the other. He flips it over and holds it against one side of his neck then the other. Then he holds it against the base of his skull, right where his hairline ended back when he had some, causing the hairs on his arm to briefly stand before once again lying down. He places the knife back in the bowl, removes the other one and begins the process again. He pauses, looks at the flattened out cat, and asks, "Is it me or is it hot?" The cat lifts its eyes without lifting its head knowing full well it's not the heat, it's the humidity.

It's Monday. Again. Time For Monday Things Around The House

This one cracks me up. What really cracks me up about it is that I want to frame it and hang it in the bathroom. It sure would match the decor.



I amuse me.

For All Other Questions Please Stay On The Line

Plebe: I really like this girl but she doesn’t even know I’m alive. What shall I do?

Guru: What you should do young man is grow your hair out to a length that will blow heroically in the wind. Chicks dig that. Then when your intended conquest approaches you just stand with arms akimbo and look thoughtfully into the sunset as if you’re thinking great and painful thoughts. Chicks dig that too. And as God is my witness if you do these things she will inevitably ask you ‘what are you thinking?’ At that point you just look at her with one eyebrow raised as if to say, ‘it’s just too way far gone for you baby,’ and reel her in like the carp of love that she is.

Monday Things Around The House 1st Eddition

Some of the blogs I read do this thing on Mondays where they go, okay, here's a picture of something around the house. And then they show a picture of something around their house. I thought that was kind of cool so I decided to try it. And what better thing to have on my first Monday than my first iris.

A Scene From The Eventually To Remain Unfinished Next Great American Novel

Sheila leaned on the open refrigerator door staring at contents she had already memorized but hoping something new and exciting would pop up, possibly hiding behind a condiment. When nothing different from her last inventory appeared she shut the door.

“Doug, we have nothing to eat.” She’d moved on to the cupboards, staring into each one long enough to see each item before moving to the next.

“Nothing? There’s all kinds of stuff in there.”

“Yeah but it’s not what I want.”

“Well what do you want?”

“I don’t know but it’s not this stuff,” she said in semi mock exasperation. “How old is this pizza?” She was back to the fridge again.

“I don’t remember. I think I usually can remember for about one to two days. I guess it could be anywhere from three days to a couple weeks. Oh wait,” Doug said, “didn’t we get that Tuesday night?”

“That’s right, we watched House MD. So that’s five days, uhg, no thanks,” she said as she tossed it back in the fridge and closed the door. Doug just shook his head and chuckled.

“Have a spoon of peanut butter,” he suggested.

Sheila paused, unable to come up with any flaw in this idea, then said, “oh alright,” like she finally resigned herself to the fact that no extravagant pastries were going to materialize. “How late you going to stay up?”

“Not late,” he said.

“That’s good. I’m going to read for a bit.” Then as she walked away she added, “When I’m done I’m sure this protein will have worked its way into my system and I’ll probably have a little extra energy.”

“Well I can be done right now you know,” and he started to stand up and close his notebook.

“No no, that’s okay, it takes a bit to you know, to work, so I’ll read for a bit and stuff. You go ahead, write your great American novel”, she said with a smile. He watched her walk up the stairs.

She still had a fine ass, there was just no denying it. He’d been a slave to that ass for the last seven years, ever since his last semester of school. He looked at his watch and figured he’d give her a half hour. He wished peanut butter was an aphrodisiac for her but the truth was, and he’d learned this early, she ran on her own internal system of when she was giving it up and when she wasn’t. That was fine with him because she wanted it enough to satisfy him and if he left it up to her then he felt he’d avoid any hassles of rejection. That system seemed to work well for them.

He told her about it once and she didn’t believe him.

“Nuh uh. What are you talking about?”

“All I’m saying is that you can convince me to have sex with you pretty much anytime you want but the same isn’t true in reverse.”

“What do you mean? I thought you said we had plenty of sex?”

“We do, we have plenty, I’m serious about that. It’s just that if you don’t want to have sex I can’t change your mind. I can’t do anything you know, sexy, and make you change your mind. Melt you.” He calmly said.

“What do you mean? You turn me on?”

“I know. I mean you tell me I do and I’m inclined to believe you. That’s no problem. It’s just that you have this power that would make me do it no matter if I was sick. Even if I ate a whole plate of nachos and chili with two of those big ass beers and came home all bloated like a beached whale hardly able to move. You could come along and make me want to do it. I would too. I’d be horrible at it but I’d still do it, you know I would. You’d just say the word and I’d be humping away all bloated and trying not to fart.”

“Ew! That’s just gross you dorkas.” She laughed. And as funny as she found it he could see she realized the truth of it. That was the last time they had to deal with that discussion and then things went on as nicely as they’d always been.

Doug looked down at the paper he was absentmindedly writing on while his thoughts were wandering.